


Mirror Mirror

by ibreathethroughwords



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alcohol, Dress Uniforms, Drinking, Fade to Black, In Public, Kissing, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Post-Bilbringi AU, Tumblr Prompt, art analysis, art everywhere, chapter 2 got hella more gay than i intended, men kissing in dress uniforms, mirror kink, post-Bilbringi, sexual teasing in public, sources in text, teaching an old dog new tricks, the empire wins AU, you can ignore it if you want idc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:25:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibreathethroughwords/pseuds/ibreathethroughwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help him find it within himself.”<br/>― Galileo Galilei</p><p>To prepare for the final offensive, Thrawn begins to teach Pellaeon how to see things his way. First chapter works awesomely as a non-slash stand alone. Second chapter? Not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madamgrandadmiral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamgrandadmiral/gifts).



> Written for [this prompt](http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/115920303720/person-a-learning-to-use-reflective-surfaces-to) on tumblr: "Person A learning to use reflective surfaces to watch whenever Person B–a fairly unexpressive individual–is secretly smiling at them."
> 
> It's not exact, but I found it to be inspiring. I might add a second chapter later that more closely matches the prompt. For now, please accept this humble offering of gen fic.

Usually when Thrawn was looking at art it was because _he_ was mentally dissecting a species’ or world’s cultural and psychological weaknesses. Ever since the betrayal of the Noghri, Thrawn was often looking at art because he was trying to train _Pellaeon_ to dissect a species’ or world’s cultural and psychological weaknesses. This bizarre sort of training was going hand-in-hand with refreshing the captain’s knowledge on a variety of subjects he hadn’t needed to study in years, and thus had forgotten quite a lot concerning them. Psychology, economics, finance, diplomacy, negotiation tactics and regulations, and the battle strategy Thrawn had received from his own race upon gaining his first military schooling were drilled into Pellaeon along with any other bits of information Thrawn decided he needed to know. One day, Thrawn had insisted, Pellaeon would succeed him as the ruler of the Galactic Empire. For that to happen, his second-in-command would need every skill that Grand Admiral Thrawn could pass on to him.

Death changed a man.

Granted, Thrawn had only been legally dead for three and a half minutes, but having a knife shoved through one’s sternum brought a humbling remind of one’s own fallibility. Backup plans, he insisted, would be excellent to have in place. Since his recovery, Thrawn had been working with Pellaeon every day as he prepared the man for a promotion to a “much higher rank” (though in his usual infuriating fashion, Thrawn refused to say which position it would be). For the past month the alien grand admiral had been pushing Pellaeon much harder than usual, particularly on the captain’s inability to analyze a species through their art. The rest of the subjects he’d been ordered to learn or to revisit were going swimmingly, but he was having the most difficult time learning to break the psyche of a race he’d never met down by each individual brushstroke.

Pellaeon didn’t think they could go much further on the subject without Thrawn’s attempt to drill some art history and culture into his head backfiring into another of their long arguments. There was no doubt as to how the argument would end either: as usual, the grand admiral would likely end the fight with a dismissal (which was his privilege as the senior officer), muttering something about how stubbornness was a Corellian’s only passion that he thought Pellaeon wouldn’t hear as he turned on his heal and left.

It wouldn’t be the first argument they’d had that ended that way.

Reporting the secondary command suite at the appointed time was the last thing he’d wanted to do with his afternoon. Thrawn had been making him study the art of some race from the Unknown Regions whose name Pellaeon couldn’t even sort of pronounce. He’d been stuck on it for days, and damned if he could figure out what Grand Admiral Thrawn’s analysis was. Pellaeon suspected he had yet to come close to it. Part of the problem was the way the sharp lines and sudden curves made him feel nauseous, which certainly wasn’t conducive to education.

The room wasn’t full of those holographs at all. Pellaeon stepped inside, hoping Thrawn wasn’t about to change them for yesterday’s as he looked around. 

All the holographs were of sculptures that seemed to be made out of mirrors. Discovering what he dimly realized had to be Human art was a refreshing change, but not as much as the recognition that not all of the sculptures were holographic. There were actual sculptures constructed of mirrors scattered throughout the room, discernable by the way their many facets reflected the light of the holographic sculptures around the room. Perhaps it was an ill-fitting statement, but Pellaeon had never been a poet: it looked like he was caught in a star field.

Recovering himself took a moment, which was approximately the amount of time it took Thrawn to pull himself away from the holographic sculpture he was studying and come to stand at Pellaeon’s side.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Captain?” the grand admiral asked.

That was an understatement. “Yes, sir,” he answered simply and honestly, because he lacked the vocabulary to put a proper word to the astounding display. “I’ve never seen anything like these before. Are they all made of mirrors?”

“They are,” Thrawn confirmed as he looped his protégé’s arm through his so that Pellaeon was on his elbow. The captain was escorted to a holo on the far side of the room. “I thought perhaps a break from yesterday’s topic might prove useful, if not easier.”

So Thrawn had pulled out something he knew would astonish and likely please his subordinate. If this was his way of apologizing, Pellaeon would accept it. “I certainly hope so, sir,” he replied diplomatically. His commander didn’t need to be told or reminded of how frustrated with each other they had both been by the time he’d been dismissed for the evening. 

“Here, Captain. Look at it, and describe to me what you see.”

[The holo they stopped in front of](http://www.ignant.de/2012/06/06/mirror-house-2/) was that of a lake whose dark, blue-gray, shallow water was calm, the surface barely rippled by wind. Comprising the shore were short, rocky cliffs spotted here and there with green and gray grass and small shrubbery. Most of the cliffs ended sharply, with one almost appearing to have been eroded by the wind and water at a ninety degree angle. The sky was gray with clouds, and Pellaeon got the impression that wherever this was, it was in a cold place. Between the two sides of the lake sat what appeared to be a house. It certainly appeared to be as tall as one, though it had no windows or doors. It looked as though someone had stuck a perfectly smooth roof on top of a perfectly smooth cube. There were few seams, which meant the surface of each side was mostly an unbroken mirror that reflected the dreary landscape around it and somehow made the dark water appear nearly the same shade of gray as the clouds.

Pellaeon took a moment to take in the details of the holo as Thrawn had taught him, surprised by the smoothness of it. If he looked close enough, it looked as though the house might have been reflecting part of an ocean. It was outdoors, but it was made of glass, so he suspected it wasn't made to endure. Most Humans wouldn’t want glass littering their oceans and killing their seafood supply and so had laws against that sort of thing. He turned to Thrawn and relayed his description to him. If this planet was full of environmentalists, that could be used against them, or so he thought. Pellaeon thought it best to consider the idea a little further before he spoke about it.

He glanced up at Thrawn when, instead of being pressed to psychoanalyze the artist or culture, the man rested a hand over the one Pellaeon had on his elbow to keep it there as he moved him to another holographic sculpture. “Sir?” he asked.

“Hush, Captain. Focus on taking in the details of what I show you for the moment.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Just because the pleasant tone disguised it as a suggestion didn’t mean Pellaeon hadn’t heard the order lying underneath. Grand Admiral Thrawn rarely asked for anything. Deciding it would be best to play along and avoid being rebuked for the comment and possibly worsening things between them, Pellaeon let Thrawn guide him along to the next one. Maybe he would learn something if he just hung in there and played along.

[The next holo was taken in a forest](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2115931/The-Predator-project-Artist-creates-disturbing-mirror-sculptures-make-human-forms-blend-surroundings.html). The leaves and grass weren’t the peculiar sort of bright green that came from tropical climates, nor were they the dark green leaves of northern climates with trees that didn’t drop their small leaves or needles once a year. The vegetation was healthy, and so clearly in an area that received enough rain to sustain it. The trees had a suitable amount of moss on them, and–

“What in the Empire?” he muttered, leaning in a little closer. 

Part of the holo seemed warped at first, almost as though there was a cloaked object in it with a malfunctioning cloaking device. It took him a moment to discern that there were several of them, and all appeared to be shaped like Humans. “Oh,” he breathed, and leaned back to better appreciate it.

“They blend in quite seamlessly, don’t they?” Thrawn commented as he leaned a little closer to peer over Pellaeon’s shoulder. 

Pellaeon nodded his head in response. This one was much more interesting, and much easier for him to understand. Humans and nature. Humanity seemed to come back around to it in cycles. “This and the other one… are they meant to be a point about Humans and our place in nature?”

Thrawn sounded pleased when he replied, but when Pellaeon turned his head slightly to glance at him, none of that was evident on his face. “Yes,” he responded, “but you need to be looking for more than that, Captain. What does it say if we were to assume that this culture has a myriad of sculptures like this?”

Shrugging impatiently in response would only earn him a glare or a reprimand, so he had to come up with some sort of reply. “This culture sees itself as coming from nature, but perhaps needs a reminder of that from time to time?” he hazarded. Thrawn made an encouraging noise that tended to indicate he was on the right track, so Pellaeon decided to continue on that path. “Perhaps they feel out of balance with nature and need to be reminded of their place in nature, or how to live with it in harmony. Their environment is clearly important to them or these sculptures would be placed in a city or the home. An attack that threatened that environment or threatened to cut them off from it could be motivation enough for them to obey without the need for violence or loss of life.”

“An excellent deduction, Captain,” Thrawn praised, and Pellaeon had to turn his head slightly to hide the blush the compliment brought.

“Thank you, Admiral,” he said, suddenly feeling a little more content to let himself be steered toward the other side of the room. Over here the sculptures were very different. Thrawn led him to one of the real ones this time, and Pellaeon noted that he could see Thrawn’s face clearly in the faceted glass of the one next to it if he tilted his head at the right angle. This set came from an entirely different culture. It was easier to tell now that he was getting a closer look.

Unlike the other sculptures Thrawn had shown him so far, these appeared to be more like mirrors. The first one he was led to [was an average size mirror](http://www.designboom.com/readers/vibration-mirror-by-studio-fredrik-skatar/), but the glass surface had been rippled as though it was a pond over which someone had drawn their fingers. There wasn’t much too it that Pellaeon liked, and he made a face at being asked to examine it. As though concerned his student and heir might run off on him, Thrawn still had a decent hold on him. The man was much stronger than he looked. 

This one was clearly meant to be hung at eye level, for the artist to look at. “I’m not sure if it’s arrogance, insecurity, or a bit of both,” he murmured, leaning in. “Either the artist needs reassurance that they have the power to affect others, or they’re outright arrogant about it and it’s a statement of power.”

That reply got him a soft chuckle. “You can break it down further, Captain. Give me a more detailed analysis than ‘it might be this or that’.”

Of course it hadn’t been enough. Pellaeon resisted the urge to roll his eyes since the grand admiral would easily see it. “Arrogance,” he decided after a moment’s thought. “If it’s a mirror, then it’s meant to be at eye level. The artist can look himself in the eye and see that he caused these ripples and froze then in time. There’s no real point to this sculpture either. It’s clearly meant to be decoration only, though I’ll admit it is rather beautiful. I would appeal to the artist’s ego and use flattery to manipulate or deceive, depending on the circumstances.”

“Not as in depth as I’d like, but certain a drastic improvement, Captain.” It was almost praise. He’d take it. Thrawn turned him again and released his subordinate’s arm to guide him with a hand in the middle of Pellaeon’s back. “One more, if you please.”

[The next one looked like a creature with scales made from a mirror had burst out of a frame](http://julibean713.deviantart.com/art/Mirror-Art-Two-212048502). The facets in the glass were interesting, and the way it caught the light had the effect of making it look less violent that he thought it out to look. Pellaeon said as much to Thrawn, who nodded in agreement. “There’s more to it than that. Look again.”

There likely was but that didn’t mean he was easily seeing it. The captain’s lips pressed into a line as he studied the sculpture, then took a couple of steps away from Thrawn. When he wasn’t halted, he continued to walk around to the back of the sculpture, opting to analyze it from as many angles as possible so he might be able to give an answer that would satisfy his commander. It also bought him time to think. The grand admiral was watching him, which he could see in the reflection. Knowing he was being observed put him on edge and made him want to perform better. 

“Humans tend to use mirrors as a symbol for reflection,” he said once he made his way back to Thrawn’s side. “It means a lot to us that we can recognize our own faces in a mirror. Mirrors represent tools by which one can analyze himself.”

Pellaeon paused, and glanced back at the look on Thrawn’s face; it wasn’t discouraging, so he decided to continue, gaining more confidence as he went. “This is like a violent emergence or a metamorphosis. An extrusion of some characteristic the artist doesn’t like from the whole – which would be the portion originally in the mirror. It puts the self at the center, not the collective. If it were representative of an entire culture, I might guess that they were in the habit of encouraging self-reflective and self-expression to remove the negative parts of oneself.”

“What would you recommend, Captain?” came the prodding question. 

He’d recommend not dealing with anybody that strange at all, but it wouldn’t be the answer his commander was looking for. More than once this afternoon he’d given a response that seemed to satisfy or please the grand admiral, and Pellaeon was certainly keen for that too continue. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t possess the incredible mental faculties of Grand Admiral Thrawn, and didn’t feel completely certain of his answer. Any species that invested in self-improvement had to be highly sentient, and likely wouldn’t be terribly warlike, given the intricacies of the sculpture. It was well-crafted, of good quality, so the maker was likely well-educated even if only on his or craft. 

Bombarding them from orbit with self-help holos probably wouldn’t be counted as a valid recommendation to make to his superior officer.

“Diplomacy, Admiral,” Pellaeon finally decided. “Diplomacy and demonstrating a willingness to work toward bettering the galaxy, particularly oneself.”

A single blue-black eyebrow was arched in his direction, but not at the height that meant disbelief or dismissal of ideas. It was the encouraging look, an invitation to expound upon his previous statement. “Oneself, Captain?”

Now that he was being given some sign of encouragement, Pellaeon was confident in his answer. Apparently he’d come to the right conclusion, and the grand admiral wanted to know how he’d arrived at it. “Yes, sir,” he confirmed with a nod. “You said this was a Human culture, and while our cultures can be varied and unique, there always exist common ideas at the heart of any Human society. Mirrors represent the self; therefore, if I’m correct that this is symbolic of expelling or reflecting upon negative qualities, then they would be impressed by anyone in a position of authority focusing on making sure they are the best leader they could be for their people.”

That was all he had. Pellaeon wanted to turn to Thrawn to check his reaction, but held off as the grand admiral made a noise to himself and turned his face away from Pellaeon. For a moment, the Human thought he’d done something wrong, and wasn’t sure if he ought to apologize or not. It didn’t really matter, not when he caught sight of Thrawn’s reflection in an egg-shaped mirror sculpture that had been positioned behind them. There was nothing particularly unusual about his face, save for a small smile playing about his lips that held more affection and pride for him than any look Pellaeon had ever seen on the man’s face. 

Thrawn was proud of him.

Maybe Pellaeon could agree to try this art analysis thing more often after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emotion Pellaeon couldn’t put a name to flashed across Thrawn’s face. It was quickly concealed, but he was close enough in the dim lighting to see the crow’s feet at the corner of Thrawn’s eyes tighten, the laugh lines around his mouth compress. “I would ask many things of you,” Thrawn said, his tone almost uncertain, as though he thought Pellaeon would say no to whatever he seemed to be gearing up for. “Different things than I’ve ever asked of you before.”
> 
> “ _Anything_ , sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, my character study got hella gay. You can totally ignore that this part even exists if you want. No skin off my back.

Ever since the day Thrawn had tested the captain by having him examine art constructed from mirrors, Pellaeon had found himself reflexively regarding reflective surfaces during conversations in which he couldn’t see the grand admiral’s face just to see if there were any more hidden smiles. Grand Admiral Thrawn was the most controlled man he’d ever met, and while he wasn’t inexpressive, he was reserved in what emotional displays he did show in front of his subordinates – or so Pellaeon had thought. When no one was looking, or so Thrawn thought, the occasional unguarded expression would slip through, and the captain was fascinated with them. Affection, amusement, anger, annoyance, approval, arrogance, all appeared at times, but only when Thrawn’s face was turned away from anyone else.

How fascinating, to have found a way to gaze beneath the unflappable mask Thrawn wore that was as much a part of his uniform as the bright white tunic and trousers, his black boots, or his rank bar and command cylinders. Pellaeon found himself enchanted by the emotional sincerity he so rarely was permitted to see from his commanding officer. Anger and annoyance were rarely expressed toward him, he was pleased to note. More often than not, amusement and approval were the mirrored emotions he caught reflected back at him. It was wrong of him, perhaps, to intrude on the blue-skinned man’s private emotions in this way, but they were endearing. Additionally, it did let him better learn how to read his superior’s non-verbal communication when he couldn’t see his face. Pellaeon now knew what the different ways he held his shoulders meant in the context of new situations. 

If he was being honest with himself, the real reason he found it hard to stop looking was that it was difficult to feel like he was committing a violation of privacy when Pellaeon knew the rare glance of affection would be directed at him. 

For the first few weeks after he’d realized that there was a way to sneak a peek at what Thrawn was hiding beneath his charming and controlled exterior, he had observed Thrawn’s reactions to everything. Lately, however, Pellaeon couldn’t lie that (when in the presence of a reflective surface) most of his attention had been devoted to how Thrawn reacted to and looked at him. It was a response born strictly out of curiosity and not any strange sort of infatuation with the man that had been steadily growing since they met, Pellaeon told himself, trying to excuse his own actions. After nearly two and a half years of working closely together, the captain knew how the grand admiral would react to almost anything from the crew or an outside factor, and that could only be beneficial to the Empire. The grand admiral’s reactions to his subordinate’s behavior still seemed to be a wildcard, as he couldn’t find an exact pattern to Thrawn’s reactions to him.

It was a challenge to figure out, and Pellaeon had never been the sort of man to back down from one. Thrawn would say it was a pertinacious trait that all Corellians seemed to share, and it wouldn’t be the first time Grand Admiral Thrawn had called him stubborn. As though he could talk: Pellaeon had never met anyone who could be more obstinate than Thrawn was when he already had a plan or thought in mind.

His mother would have laughed and called them a matched set. They challenged each other, oftentimes more than once a day, and there was respect between them. Pellaeon had never worked so well with any other superior officer. 

It wasn’t long after he’d come to that conclusion and had set to seriously studying the grand admiral’s reactions to him that Captain Pellaeon had started to notice an affectionate smile directed at his back here and there. Not long after that one of his aides pointed out that she’d never seen two men more comfortable in each other’s personal space. Though he’d had to remind her that there was very little personal space available on a spaceship to get her to drop it, the thought had lingered in the back of his mind since. Funny, how he hadn’t realized that until it was pointed out to him. Neither of them had ever been shy about leaning over the other’s shoulder or invading their space to look at this report or that display readout, and they had certainly never shied away from getting in each other’s faces during the worst of their arguments. The gentle touch of Thrawn’s hand on his as they had examined the mirrors came to mind quite often. Pellaeon found himself paying more attention to their body language as they interacted every day than to Thrawn’s face.

The way they moved together when they were alone reminded Pellaeon of his parents and the level of comfort they’d had together.

Sometimes he couldn’t manage to shove the thoughts aside unless they were planning for a battle, in the middle of a battle, or cleaning up from a battle. Concern that he might be obsessing over this or reading too far into things had crossed Pellaeon’s mind more than once, and he wondered if Thrawn ever knew that he was distracted by the man’s mere presence whenever they were alone. If he had been onto his second-in-command all along, Thrawn hadn’t said anything at all until six months after the Rebellion had surrendered and agreed to a treaty that eliminated them as a threat and brought them under Imperial control. It had been signed a week ago, the New Republic now officially in the messy process of dismantling, and the two of them were exhausted. 

Coruscant was an ideal place for them to work at properly changing over command and governance. Grand Admiral Thrawn was smart, and knew to allow the worlds now under their command to keep their own political, social, and religious systems in place. When they had first begun planning to take Ukio, Thrawn had explained his decision as psychological. If the people over which Thrawn ruled didn’t perceive that their lives were changing, then resistance would be less likely to develop. Any that did would be easier to quash, or would be taken care of by their fellow citizens. Devoting time and troops to putting out uprisings across the galaxy would be a waste of time and effort, and avoiding that whenever possible was just good military tactics. It also placed less of a burden on the grand admiral, of course, and the high admiral who was frequently at his side. The people of Coruscant hardly seemed to notice the change, and the hustle and bustle of the city went on around them, even as the members of the New Republic who resisted were quietly put to death.

Overseeing executions was, thankfully, not a job for either of them, and Pellaeon was content to stay away from the mess. The pair of them had just escaped from evening meal with delegates from some of the new member worlds during which his commander had been unusually tense. It was barely obvious: the only reason Pellaeon had recognized it at all was that he had trained himself to read the other’s body language and micro-expressions. It was typical of them to go their separate ways after these dinners, but this time had been different. This time Thrawn had invited him on a post-meal walk once the delegates had retired for the evening. This particular section of the palace was so well defended and sealed off that guards were stationed farther apart, and Thrawn was able to leave his contingent of bodyguards at the door to his quarters as they finished their walk.

Pellaeon had noticed that Thrawn seemed to become tenser as they walked, and was surprised when he was invited inside the spacious rooms that Thrawn had taken for himself. According to him, these had been the rooms he’d stayed in before his fake exile to the Unknown Regions. They were beautiful, well-appointed, and suited Thrawn perfectly, down to the dim lighting he imaged was more comfortable for someone capable of seeing just fine in low lighting conditions. A glass of brandy was offered to him, and Pellaeon accepted it as he sank onto the one couch that didn’t feel like it was meant for someone with a slightly different spine. 

“My thanks,” he said with a grateful nod. He took a sip of the brandy and set it aside. “It’s been a long week for us both.”

Thrawn favored him with a tired smile as he sat next to Pellaeon, close enough to violate his personal space, but just far enough away to make it something easy to brush off. When Thrawn’s knee seemed to hesitantly touch his Pellaeon decided that it had to have been a calculated move. “That it has,” Thrawn replied. He took a sip of his drink, and looked at his subordinate over the top of it as though searching for any signs of objection to the touch.

None were given. Pellaeon watched him, noting the way the corner of Thrawn’s eyes held tension. His gray eyes moved lower, taking in the stiffness of the other male’s posture, the tightness in his long, thin fingers. The formal uniform jacket and the lighting of the room had the effect of making Thrawn appear older, for once nearly looking his actual age. That had been quite the revelation initially, until it had been explained to him how Chiss aged much differently from Humans. 

“Something’s bothering you,” Pellaeon commented after Thrawn had taken a couple sips of his brandy and set it to the side. “Something’s been bothering you all day.”

The grand admiral pressed his lips into a thin line, something he did when he didn’t like the idea of something, or was annoyed. Pellaeon didn’t think it was directed at him, just at whatever had caused the tension all day. “I didn’t think it was obvious,” Thrawn admitted after a moment.

“It wasn’t,” Pellaeon assured him.

Thrawn – a much more observant person than he was – surely knew that Pellaeon had been actively working to improve his ability to read the Chiss’s non-verbal cues, but the high admiral had never brought it up to him before, or mentioned the method he had used to study it. It wasn’t a study he wished to ever give up; like many before him, Pellaeon found the alien man fascinating and had to acknowledge the possibility that he would be made to cease if he mentioned it. There was silence between them for a few minutes as Thrawn contemplated whatever it was that had been on his mind. As he hadn’t been ordered out, Pellaeon used the time to take another drink of the brandy he’d been given. A reply didn’t come until after he’d set the snifter back on the low table in front of the sofa.

Once his hands were free, Thrawn reached out for them, taking Pellaeon’s aging hands in his pale blue ones that were much longer and much younger-looking. He stood, the medals on his chest and the silver trim on his dress uniform jacket glimmering more than his rank bar and command cylinders could in the dim light, and tugged Pellaeon to his feet. Resisting seemed counterproductive, so the high admiral let himself be pulled to his feet. The dark of his dress blues looked black in the dim lighting, making the contrast between the colors of their uniforms much sharper. If the blue of Thrawn’s skin had been any brighter, Pellaeon knew they would have looked like negative images of each other. Other comparisons could have been made, he knew, such as Thrawn being the light or some other such nonsense, but what struck him the most was how well they complimented each other, like two sides of a credit chip. 

Content to give Thrawn whatever it was he wanted for the moment, Pellaeon let himself be pulled over to a window that wasn’t really a window. The illusion of transparisteel was provided by holos that made the six and a half meters high, four meters thick reinforced wall look like a window that spanned the same distance. They stopped in front of it, and Pellaeon let Thrawn turn him to face the view. The grand admiral stepped behind him, and rested his hands on his subordinate’s shoulders. It was unusually intimate. 

The touch made him shiver slightly.

“Look at the city,” Thrawn murmured from behind him. “There are billions of lives, just on this one planet. Our galaxy is inhabited by at least a quintillion beings. All of those lives belong to the Empire now. All of those lives belong to us.”

When they’d been discussing the treaty, this was something the two of them had argued over. Pellaeon wanted to make certain Thrawn knew what he was getting into. Stress had killed many men, and the stress of being responsible for so many lives would wear on anybody, no matter how skilled that person was at commanding and leading other people. Pellaeon turned his head slightly, ignoring the way Thrawn’s breath on his ear made him shiver again. The hands on his shoulders tightened slightly, enough that he had to force himself to ignore the way it went straight to his groin. 

He’d been ignoring (or at least attempting to ignore) most of his body’s responses to Thrawn lately.

“This is what’s bothering you?” Pellaeon asked softly.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Thrawn’s lip quirk up into a smile that faded quickly. “Partially,” he replied. “I’ve been thinking about your argument that running an Empire and its military may be more than any one person can handle.” There was a second’s pause as he looked at his second-in-command. “I was hoping that you would be willing to help me.”

Pellaeon turned to face him, paying attention to the way Thrawn’s hands ghosted down his biceps when they fell from his shoulders. “I would do anything for you, sir,” he reminded him in a voice that was quiet and firm. “All you have to do is ask.”

Their eyes met, gray and glowing red, and Pellaeon held his gaze. He’d prided himself for a long time now on his ability to look into those eyes when so many officers couldn’t or wouldn’t. It was almost a comforting act these days, when they so seldom argued and seemed to dance around each other more fluid than ever. Now looking away from him was harder than making eye contact.

An emotion Pellaeon couldn’t put a name to flashed across Thrawn’s face. It was quickly concealed, but he was close enough in the dim lighting to see the crow’s feet at the corner of Thrawn’s eyes tighten, the laugh lines around his mouth compress. “I would ask many things of you,” Thrawn said, his tone almost uncertain, as though he thought Pellaeon would say no to whatever he seemed to be gearing up for. “Different things than I’ve ever asked of you before.”

“ _Anything_ , sir.” 

For a moment he thought the attempt at reassurance wasn’t going to work. Thrawn seemed uncharacteristically hesitant to ask whatever favor this was going to be.

Long, thin fingers wrapped around his, both hands taken hold of again in a warm, gentle touch that felt surprisingly cautious – as though Thrawn expected Pellaeon to pull away. In a move that surprised both of them, the high admiral shifted his hands in Thrawn’s to a tighter grip, not quite aware that it would be his reaction until after it had already happened. It wasn’t often he was able to surprise the grand admiral, but it was clear that he had managed it. Thrawn’s fingers clutched his tighter, and Pellaeon felt what could only be anticipation build in his gut as they continued to study each other.

“‘Anything’ is such a vague term,” Thrawn murmured as he took a step closer to close the distance between them. He lifted Pellaeon’s right hand and brought it to his lips. The pale blue skin of Thrawn’s brushed lightly over his middle knuckle, warm and slightly wet.

The contact and the closeness made Pellaeon exhale a shuddering breath as that expectant feeling intensified. “And yet I meant it.” His voice was only a whisper between them; at this distance, there was no point is speaking any louder. Thrawn lowered his hand but didn’t let go or break eye contact.

“So if I were to ask permission to kiss you, you would let me?”

He already had, and the taller man hadn’t even asked. Pellaeon wasn’t complaining at all, of course not. Would he let Thrawn kiss him? Given the way his thoughts had been going and the way he’d been obsessing over see the man smile, it made sense. Logically, he probably would. It certainly didn’t sound unpleasant – quite the opposite.

Kissing did fall under the parameters of “anything”.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Thrawn smiled then, and it was the happiest he’d ever seen the grand admiral look. “May I kiss you?”

The single word he would have used in response failed to come out of his mouth as his brain decided this was the perfectly moment to swallow nervously and have his tongue wet his lips. He nodded instead, and no sooner had he given permission than he felt lips on his. It had been decades since he’d last kissed a man, and Pellaeon had forgotten how different it felt from kissing any of the long list of women he’d taken as lovers over the years. Thrawn was much more take-charge than anyone he’d ever been with: even though it was a gentle kiss, it was clear to Pellaeon that he needed to let his commander lead for now.

How he could possibly complain about that?

Thinking wasn’t even possible, not really, once Thrawn made the decision to take the kiss beyond simply sliding his lips over Pellaeon’s. His mouth was hotter than Pellaeon had ever remembered a Human mouth being, which made the kiss – in his opinion – that much better. Inside his boots his toes curled as Thrawn explored his mouth, still maintaining a tenderness to it.

It was over far too soon. Pellaeon let him pull away and blinked open his eyes as soon as his brain registered that he’d closed them. 

“Oh,” he breathed out.

The kiss had been slow and tender, but his heart was racing and his lungs aching as though he’d just gone for a run. 

“Yes,” Thrawn agreed, and rested his forehead against Pellaeon’s. He wasn’t the only one who seemed to be heavily affected by the kiss. Thrawn was catching his breath as well, his hands shifting to intertwine their fingers. 

Comfortable silence settled between them as they took a moment to stand together and breathe each other in. When he was sure that he wouldn’t be speaking with a trembling voice, Pellaeon chuckled quietly. “You don’t need to ask anymore,” he murmured. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d mind terribly just being grabbed and kissed at random if all their kisses were going to be like that or hotter every time.

His comment got a soft laugh in return, and it came with the bonus of another kiss. Their second one still was less gentle, but just as affectionate. A soft sigh escaped him as Thrawn pulled away. “Then I won’t,” the grand admiral finally replied. He turned and led his subordinate back to the sofa. 

Once seated, Pellaeon leaned in and stole another kiss from him, this one far more heated. The brandy was forgotten now, and his own sense of decorum was rapidly following suite. When Thrawn leaned in to press him gently onto his back, Pellaeon couldn’t stop the shiver that went right down his spine and straight to his groin. His arms wrapped around Thrawn’s shoulders, insistently pulling him closer for more. How much farther would they go, he wondered?

Not much farther, apparently, because someone picked that exact moment to hit the door chime. They both made a disappointed noise, and Thrawn moved off of him and pulled Pellaeon to his feet. Uniforms and hair were quickly straightened out as the door chime rang a second time. The grand admiral went to the door to answer it, Pellaeon following close behind him and hoping that it wasn’t at all obvious they’d just been making out on the couch like teenagers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pellaeon's never been sexually stimulated at an opera before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's foreplay in this chapter. 
> 
> What am I doing with this fic? What am I even doing with my life?

Now that they were once again in control of the galaxy and had possession of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, the grand admiral’s social life (and his by association) had become exhaustingly busy. The expectations of those who had achieved a high military rank included attending social gatherings and participating in certain political activities and proceedings. Parties and politics were fine for those being who were into that sort of stuff, but Pellaeon was a career military man. He’d run away at the tender age of 15 to join the military, and had intended to stay solely involved with the institution his whole life, whether they promoted him quickly or not. Being of a lower rank had held advantages for him, such as not having to get involved in court politics, and not being expected to attend more than a function or two a year.

Trust Grand Admiral Thrawn to ruin all that for him.

It wasn’t that he particularly regretted his promotion to the rank of High Admiral. It was one step below Thrawn, and the title more accurately reflected the duties he had been tasked with since the grand admiral’s return from exile to take command of the Imperial Fleet. Pellaeon was his second-in-command, and though his primary duty was still carrying out Thrawn’s will and orders through the military, he now had other, less-desirable duties that seemed to get in the way of their every attempt at time alone. 

After their brief (albeit satisfying) make-out session on Thrawn’s sofa had been interrupted by a minor uprising, they’d had no time with just the two of them. For three weeks now the farthest they’d gotten were longing looks and the rare brush of fingers or the backs of their hands. Every moment saw them accompanied by aids or guards. Even when Pellaeon had been personally sent to deal with the uprising there was no time for a private goodbye. Thrawn had been in a meeting, and Pellaeon couldn’t spare the time to wait. 

In the six days since his return from that fiasco Pellaeon had seen his meeting-swamped leader long enough for a debriefing and twice for dinners that afforded them no privacy. They had exchanged short words here and there, but longing looks and a leg pressed against his at dinner last night had been the only real contact he’d had with the man. 

It was enough to make him look forward to this opera they had promised the director – and old friend of Pellaeon’s – to attend. A private box had been guaranteed for them, no big deal was to be made about their attendance, and though there would be other people nearby and presumably several guards, they would at least be able to do something together without being hassled constantly by their own aides. No meetings, no obnoxious dinner parties, just the two of them, a private box, and an opera that he didn’t entirely dislike. Barring no horrible emergencies, Pellaeon thought they might actually get to relax a little for a night. If he was lucky, perhaps they would get farther tonight than they had the last time they’d had any privacy.

The ride to the opera house was quiet, Thrawn’s bodyguards seeming to sense that their glorious leader wouldn’t appreciate much in the way of conversation. Pellaeon was content to sit in silence and enjoy not having anyone babbling to him, asking for favors, or directing him to meetings or holoconferences with his subordinates. He took the opportunity to study Thrawn from the corner of his eye. The man looked like he was physically tired, but alert anyway. No sudden signs of stress or aging had appearing during their time apart that Pellaeon could detect, which made him feel a little relieved. Wearing something besides a uniform made Thrawn look younger and more vibrant. More than one of his mystery species had suddenly turned up in the city – including his new guards – and Pellaeon thought that it would serve to make Thrawn at least slightly more anonymous.

Pellaeon was wearing rank-appropriate civilian clothing as well. It felt strange to him as it usually did not to be wearing his uniform, but there was a certain freedom in the act that he had never been able to fully appreciate until recently. No one had saluted as he’d passed them once he’d exited the palace, and no one had appeared to recognized him save for Thrawn and his guards. The chance to have a break in his hectic routine was something Pellaeon was looking forward to.

Their arrival at the event was absolutely unremarkable, which had the effect of making their arrival absolutely delightful. Pellaeon’s friend, Celcke Toliman, greeted them at the back entrance to the opera house. He was shorter than Pellaeon remembered him being, but just as round and jolly as he had been the last time they had met, if a little much more gray-haired and tanned. A young man stood at his side, and Pellaeon figured he had to be one of Celcke’s grandsons just by how utterly alike they looked. He reminded Pellaeon of how Celcke had looked during their academy days all those years ago. 

The young man was tall – nearly two meters – and just as handsome as his grandfather had been in his youth. His straight black hair was well cared for, and cascaded down to his shoulders in gentle waves. A bit of stubble decorate his chin, jaw, and upper lip, as though he was just beginning to attempt to grow a proper beard. Bright green eyes watched them curiously, but held all the warmth and friendliness that Celcke and all of his children had always shown. He was slim and fit, and Pellaeon was positive he had to belong to Celcke’s youngest daughter, Midra. 

Celcke pulled him in for a hug and the customary kiss to each cheek before stepping back. “I was starting to think you would never manage to make time for your old friend!” Celcke exclaimed, hand still on Pellaeon’s shoulder. 

It was hard to resist smiling in the face of all that joy. “As was I,” he admitted. “This is the first break I’ve had in weeks.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing for you that I will provide a fantastic opportunity for you to relax.” The jolly old man beamed at him, and then turned that smile on the grand admiral. 

Even Thrawn wasn’t immune to a friendly smile from his friend, it seemed. “Grand Admiral Thrawn, this is Celcke Toliman. We graduated from the Academy and served together for a while before he got married and retired to raise the largest brood of children I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Thrawn said, extending a hand in greeting to Celcke, who was only too happy to accept it for a warm handshake. “I’ve heard a lot about you and the operas you direct.”

Celcke laughed and grinned. “Only good things, I hope.”

“I doubt there’s a soul in the galaxy who would have anything bad to say about you, my friend,” Pellaeon assured him with a small smile. “Who is this young man? He looks just like you did when you were that age.”

Pride crossed his friend’s face then, and Pellaeon knew he had been correct in his assumption that this man was a grandson. “This is Fleck Pedra, Midra’s first born. Can you believe that? My dear sweet Midra already has adult children. The years fly by so fast!” Celcke gestured the young man forward, and he shook hands with Thrawn and Pellaeon. He was shy, like his mother, but just as friendly. “He’s finishing up his apprenticeship here as a set designer. All of the sets you’ll see tonight were designed by Fleck as one of his final projects before the guild certifies him to go construct sets without supervision.”

“Congratulations on your accomplishments,” Thrawn said, and offered the young man a friendly smile to put him at ease.

Being complimented by the Commander-in-Chief of the Empire was enough to make the shy man blush slightly and duck his head for a moment. “Thank you, sir,” he responded, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“Come, come,” Celcke said. He slipped his arm through Pellaeon’s so he could guide him into the building. “Let’s go ahead and get the two of you settled in your box. I’m afraid the two of us are needed backstage shortly, though I do hope to catch up with you after the opera has finished.” 

“So long as there are no emergencies, I don’t see why not,” Thrawn replied. 

Good. That meant he didn’t dislike Celcke. They had yet to inform anyone as of yet regarding their intentions toward each other, but it was still important to Pellaeon to have the approval of his friends. Celcke showed to the box and bid them farewell. His hand rested easily on his grandson’s as he guided him away, chatting easily and happily with Fleck.

The guards – Pellaeon frowned as he studied them, suddenly realizing that there were a handful more of them around than normal – checked the box for safety, and were dismissed to the hallway outside the door once it had been determined that the box was safe and free of any surveillance equipment. Finally, after weeks spent mostly apart, it was just the two of them… and the big transparisteel panel that protected the front of the box from any stray blaster bolts, just in case. 

A gentle touch at the small of his back drew Pellaeon from his thoughts. Thrawn used the contact to guide Pellaeon forward into a seat, and then took the one next to him. The grand admiral seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in twining their fingers together and resting their joined hands on his thigh. It wasn’t exactly how he’d been wanting to touch the other man these last three weeks, but it was a drastic improvement. They shared a fond smile between them as they traded horror stories about how busy the last three weeks had been until the house lights went down. 

Sometime about halfway into the first act by Pellaeon’s reckoning, Thrawn’s hand released his and settled high up onto Pellaeon’s thigh. A soft gasp escaped him at the contact. He turned to look at Thrawn, but the man wasn’t acknowledging the act at all; to the contrary, the grand admiral seemed to be entirely engrossed in the opera. 

Or rather, that’s how he would have looked, were it not for the slightest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

The hand on his thigh didn’t move for a long moment, long enough for Pellaeon to relax again and turn his attention back to the opera. As soon as his attention was refocused, Thrawn’s thumb began to stroke back and forth over his leg. Pellaeon’s attention was immediately drawn back to the hand, the focus mostly on the digit stimulating the nerve endings so close to his groin. His questioning gaze didn’t deter Thrawn this time. The other male leaned forward slightly as though he was shifting to better see the performers below them, but instead used the movement to disguise sliding his hand to Pellaeon’s inner thigh. 

That was damned distracting, and not at all unwelcome. Pellaeon glanced slightly at him, and Thrawn raised one eyebrow in a silent question. Was it fine for him to continue? 

Was it? Pellaeon supposed he would be able to stop Thrawn before he could do something utterly embarrassing like finishing in his trousers. 

A slight nod and the parting of his thighs in invitation was his response, and the long, thin fingers slid further up his thigh, teasing him through the pants fabric as he went. Air hitched in his throat when those clever fingers found his half-hard cock and teased it through the layers between them. Pellaeon slid his eyes shut for a moment as his body focused on the sensation and sent what felt like all the blood in his body to pool in his cock. This was absolutely not the place for the grand admiral and his second-in-command to be fooling around like teenagers, but that’s what made it all the more exciting. Without any conscious permission given, the high admiral’s hips lifted slightly, attempting to get more friction from the fingertips that tormented him with light touches. 

“Open your eyes,” Thrawn murmured into his ear. “If you hold your head just right, you can see your reflection in the transparisteel.”

Could he? Pellaeon obeyed out of reflex, and tilted his head slightly when prompted by Thrawn nipping lightly at the back of his ear. One whole hand was rubbing over his erection now, and Pellaeon bit his bottom lip, worrying at it as he tried to find just the right angle to –

–Oh.

Apparently you really could see your reflection. It was faint due to the low light, but even Pellaeon could tell that he looked like he badly wanted fucked. His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown, eyes heavy and lidded. Embarrassment and arousal mingled in him, something he definitely wasn’t used to feeling. The way the embarrassment fed his arousal startled him, and when his eyes met Thrawn’s in the reflection, Pellaeon knew that he knew, and he didn’t consider it to be a terrible thing.

Thrawn pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and pulled away, giving Pellaeon some time to collect himself before the end of the first act and intermission started. Neither of them stood when the lights came back up; instead, Pellaeon twisted in his chair to look at the grand admiral. He had just opened his mouth to ask why the hell he’d stopped, but Thrawn – as usual – beat him to the punch. “I have nothing on my schedule for tomorrow,” he informed Pellaeon with a small smile, “and neither do you. I therefore propose we spend the rest of the night making up for lost time.”

That was as good a reason as any to wind a man up, at least in his opinion. When he’d found out his schedule had been ordered to be cleared by a higher authority, Pellaeon had just shrugged it off and accepted it as a blessing. Discovering the reason behind it had taken a backburner to just enjoying the thought that he might get a reasonable amount of sleep. Of course, now that he knew the reason for the abrupt schedule change, not getting a reasonable amount of sleep sounded just fine to him as well. If it meant they could get this damn tension out of the way, if it meant finally getting to have more than a short conversation, not-sleeping was satisfactory.

“How could I say no to such a reasonable request?” Pellaeon replied. “I assume you have plans in mind for us tonight besides talking?”

It wasn’t _really_ a question of Thrawn’s intentions: Pellaeon knew full well that there wasn’t likely to be a lot of talking going on when their tongues would be occupied with other things. He could say that he wanted to know what he was getting into before he agreed to anything, but the truth was that he was still half-hard and was badly looking forward to more. Being teased in an opera house full of people with guards only three meters away was the kinkiest thing he’d done in years. Even if Thrawn hadn’t just been stroking him to hardness with only his fingertips, the invitation to spend the night catching up would have had him willing and interested enough to go along with quite a bit.

Being teased made him a little more eager to return to the palace than he might have been otherwise. 

Thrawn leaned in closer and dropped his voice to a murmur. “I have a few ideas, yes,” he admitted. His hand, warm and soft, wrapped around Pellaeon’s again. “I thought that perhaps we should pick up where we left off before.”

Being kissed to death on the sofa? “If we can change the location in which we pick it up,” Pellaeon offered. “The sofa is nice, but it’s hardly the best place to continue passed you ravaging my mouth.”

There was heat in Thrawn’s eyes now, and Pellaeon couldn’t help but notice that Thrawn seemed to be half-hard as well. After glancing around to make sure no one could see into their box, he reached across and slid his fingers over the outline of the erection. Thrawn’s eyes slid shut at the touch, and reopened when Pellaeon’s hand moved away. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to take you to my bed,” he said, voice low and hungry.

It didn’t even occur to Pellaeon to object to that, not when the words sent a shiver down his spine; after all, that was what he had been hinting at. “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

“Nor will you have cause to,” Thrawn said with a smirk. The hand holding his shifted so that Thrawn could stroke his index and middle fingers over the inside of the high admiral’s wrist. Comforting though the touch was, it certainly was doing nothing to ease his erection. Thrawn seemed intent on teasing him until they left. 

“I suppose this is where you tell me you’re going to make it worth my while?”

The heated gaze and the smirk that his question brought to Thrawn’s face made the blue skinned man look positively voracious. “If I do my job right, you won’t be getting out of my bed in the morning, Gilad.”

Hearing his name in _this_ context and _that_ tone was doing absolutely nothing good for his self-control. Thrawn spoke his name like it was some sort of invocation to a god of debauchery. Pellaeon stroked his other hand over the top of the grand admiral’s and didn’t bother to disguise the hunger on his face as they looked at each other. He badly wanted to leave right now, but didn’t want to upset Celcke. If it had been anybody else directing the show, Pellaeon would have asked to leave.

The house lights went down again, taking away the option to even ask. Thrawn shifted Pellaeon around in his seat, and picked up the teasing right where he left off. Pellaeon attempted to reciprocate the touch once, but Thrawn pulled his hands behind the back of the chair and held them there with a one-handed grip on his wrists that heightened his arousal enough that his cock began to leak. Every few minutes one of the fingers over his aching cock would move to stroke it up and down before settling over it. Heat radiated from the hand and into his trousers, and it took all his willpower and promises of a better reward for his patience whispered into his ear to keep Pellaeon from bucking up into the still hand to get the friction he wanted.

Sitting through the second act of play was a strenuous test of his patience and willpower. Acting as though nothing was wrong when speaking with Celcke after the opera was incredibly difficult. Thrawn stood close by his side, exuding charm, and occasionally moving in ways that caused him to brush up against his subordinate. Every time that happened it became a struggle to keep control over his reaction. The ride home with the bodyguards in such close proximity was the longest ride of Pellaeon’s life. The walk through the halls of the palace was torture. 

Standing outside the door waiting for the bodyguards to clear the room to assure Thrawn’s safety was an act that nearly pushed Pellaeon to the limits of his tolerance for delays. All that was getting in the way now was a gaggle of guards and a door. Thrawn dismissed his guards from the room as soon as they had given the all clear. The door slid shut behind the last of them, but something about Thrawn’s posture stopped Pellaeon from pouncing him like a teenager might. 

A blue hand lifted, a silent request for his own. The Human let Thrawn take his hand and lead him to his bedroom. Most of the physical artwork Thrawn owned was in here. Kilik Twilight hung near the door to the refresher with a few other pieces Pellaeon didn’t recognize. The rest of the room didn’t really matter to him, at least not for the moment. Eager to begin, Thrawn was already drawing Pellaeon toward the large bed. The posts were decorated with artwork, but he couldn’t be bothered to even try to discern what they were. Thrawn’s mouth closed over his own in a kiss that felt like a branding iron, and his surroundings were no longer important.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [madamgrandadmiral](http://archiveofourown.org/users/madamgrandadmirall) for the help with this one. I had wanted to write it but couldn't quite figure out how to go about it. Then I spent about ten hours just looking at [mirror scultpures](https://www.google.com/search?q=mirror+sculpture&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=3RA9VaTFFomdgwSDqIGQAQ&ved=0CB4QsAQ&biw=1366&bih=643) on Google.
> 
> Oh yeah, so I was trying to figure out what the hell to title this thing, so I decided to google "you can't teach an old dog new tricks", and look. Look at this. LOOK AT THIS GLORIOUSLY CUTE PHOTO!
> 
>  


End file.
